A Fool's Game
by bloomblaum
Summary: Chapters in the life of a young Sherlock Holmes. Twoshot! Sherlock Holmes and John Watson take on some bullies.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes leaned agaisnt the tombstone and let out a punch of pent up air. He breathed hard for several moments, watching his breath plume. His hands and legs shook violently. He scrabbled to keep his feet, holding tight to the tombstone's graveled side. A groan escpaed him as pain flared up his side and lights danced in front of his eyes.

The boys who had chased him here were gone. He'd lost them half a mile ago, running at his all out best. He was alone now in the country cemetary, breathing out hot air. A wrenching sob escaped the frail boy, and the tears leaking from eyes froze immediately on his cheeks.

"Sherlock?" A soft voice. A hand grasped his shoulder. He'd heard the footsteps approaching, and wasn't shocked at all. He saw the girl through the prism of his agony, standing amid the tombstones. It was Emma Forester. The Misfit. But no one dared beat a girl like they beat him. She was holding a spotted toad in her hand, stroking it gently with a finger. Emma, with her shaggy blond hair and soft voice. Emmie was as "unlady like" as Sherlock's odd auntie Martha and _she, _unlike corpulent Marhta, hunted for frogs and bugs with him.

Emmie, who was now present to see him sobbing against the side of a tombstone, clutching his exploding side. So embarassing! _Pray think, what else is there to lose? _Thought the scrawny nine year old.

"_They did this?"_ The soft voice was full of outrage. Emma knelt next to him, looking carefully into his eyes.

Sherlock Holmes nodded. The momentum of his head caused more tears to spill from his eyes and freeze as pearls on his cheeks. "T-they...I was just o-out walking...and the w-whole group came down on me. I tried to run..."

"Poor Sherlock." She took his hand gently in her own. He almost cringed away. _Nothing to lose, old boy. No one cares if you're holding hands with a girl. They all just want you dead. You have absoltely no reputation to lose. _Yet, he didn't think the gesture romantic. It seemed...well, out of pity.

She touched his side and he nearly screamed. "Emma! Wh-wha-?"

"I'm trying to see if you have any broken ribs."

"Be gentle."

"I barely touched you."

"It feels like you're stabbing! Oww, Emmie it hurts! Please, stop, stop! Ouuuch!"

Emmie nodded curtly, pushing her wirerimmed spectacles up on her beakish nose. She wore a grey, woolen shirt and smelled, to Sherlock, like a wet dog. She had been down by the lake, collecting toads again, so that explained it. Emmie would never have a lady's grace. She walked with a slight limp in her left foot and was contanstly adjusting her too big spectacles.

Yet, as she felt his side, even through the stabbing pain, he felt his heart rate acclerating. Foolish nonsense. _Utter claptrap! _Screamed fat Aunt Marhta in his mind. _Foolish young lad! _The exact words she had shouted at Sherlock when he had splashed tea onto her lap then tried to appoligize. He can still see Martha's grey eyes exploding with hatred as she stands, gesturing madly.

"Shh. Tis all right. I don't think you've broken anything." He stood, knowing tommorow he would only manage a stagger.

"Why did they attack you? Oh, you can pet Gordon if you like." She handed him the slimy toad and felt her heart soar at the smile that lit his face. _He's into some weird things, just like me. No wonder all the boys don't get along with him. He's...well he's sort of softish, I guess. But in a good way. And his mind is good..._She paused in her thinking as a strange, foreign thought glowed in her mind. _Why Emmie, you're falling in love!_

"His proper name is Bufo Bufo," said Sherlock Holmes, stroking the slimy, bulging side. "Common toad, you know? I've looked them all up in the book at home. The one Mycroft and John got me for Christmas. Oh, right, John's going to beat them silly when he finds out-!" His thin lips stretched into an even broader smile, contrasting with the tears still frozen on his cheeks. _But everything about him is so...I don't know...oppoisite and weird. And...oh, oh shut it out!_

"I would love to!" exclaimed Emmie, eyes huge behind her spectacles. "Can I have Buffo Buffo back? Oh, Sherlock, have you ever heard the fairytale about the princess and the frog. You know, the one where she...the princess...you know...she...umm..."

He shook his head, not really paying attention. He was too busy examining the toad, and feeling a tad guilty for the disection he'd performed on a similar specimen while brother Mycroft looked on excitedly.

_Emmie, blast, you're being ridiculous. He..._

"She does this!" Finished Emmie, and kissed him squarely on his lips. The toad hit the ground with a _thunk _and the young Sherlock Holmes were wider than saucers. It was Sherlock Holmes' first and last kiss. He wiped a hand slowly across his lips, tasting something minty.

_Why had she done it? They were such good friends, and girls had loads of germs, everyone knew! Blast, blasssst! If anyone saw. If any of the lads knew. First holding hands, and...what was that anyway? Had she really smacked a kiss on his lips? His Emmie? And it had been wet, awful, just foul in a way, but mostly it was...wonderful?_

"Emmie, why did you do that?" He said, still wiping his mouth.

"Ohhhh, I'm so stupid!" Shouted Emma, and she turned from him, leaving him in one of the retropective sileneces she hated. Of _course _he didn't fancy her. Who did?

"Wait!" Shouted Sherlock Holmes. "Come back!" He considered flying off after her, but he ached too much, outside and inside. It had been a rubbish day, and he didn't need this. Didn't want this. "Emmie, I didn't mean-! Be careful if the lads are still out there. I don't they'd hestiate too much about whacking a girl." He said this more softly, and only Buffo Buffo heard, but didn't care because the drop had nearly killed him. She was out of sight before he could count to twenty.

Someone grabbed him firmly by the shoulderblades. This time, he hadn't been watching his back. Sherlock Holmes screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow, it was mean to leave with the previous chapter with that ending...and then Sherlock Holmes screamed. Finallly, updating this! Anyway, I think it's just going to stay a cute little two shot.

It was John Watson. Blast! He would have usually noticed someone coming up behind him. John, who well built, even a little hefty, had snuck up on him!

"Sherlock?" John pushed sandy brown hair out of his eyes and squinted at Sherlock. "Oh, bloody hell! They ambushed you again, didn't they?" He began to roll back his shirt cuffs. John's mum always had him so well dressed. _At least he has a mum that bothers!_

"John." He was still out of breath, wiping a hand over his lips. "John, the grossest and strangest thing just h-happened to me."

"Eh?" John bucked back his shoulders, then started violently. Something had slammed into his trousers.

"Whassit you got here?" He bent to grab for the small thing that had attacked him.

"'Tis a toad," lisped Sherlock, still wiping his lips. "A common variety. Look, John I wanted to tell you something! Something important!"

"Ah, lookit it! Lookit! Trying to jump out of my palm. Going to kill himself doing that!" John stroked the pudgy side.

"Please put him down and listen to me," said Sherlock. He let out a whooshing breath, then leaned against the tombstone. _Lily H., gone to gr__een meadows. _It was the only actual, slab of tombstone. The rest of the plots were marked with wooden crosses, made by tinny hands. A pet cemetary.

"You came here to talk with Lily, didn't you?"

"...I came here because I was chased."

"But you feel safe here, talking to her? Your old dog"

"I lost them in the forest. Richard and his pals, I mean. I came here to be alone..." He paused, watching John as he laid the toad on the ground. "Of course, that's proving difficult."

"Believe it or not," began John, launching into one of his _the world is not completely against you, don't be so down on yourself! Speeches. _"You have _friends. _Real friends that care about you. We don't want you to be alone. And we're going to keep on finding you, whereever you are. It doesn't matter how far you run."

Sherlock could feel a lump burning in his throat. He must not allow John to know.

"Sherlock, you can cry. I know it all hurts. I won't tell anyone."

And he did, again, in the tinny pet cemetary, with John Watson's arms wrapped tightly around his frail body. He cried until the tears wouldn't come anymore, then sat down on the grass and wrapped his arms around his knees. He sniffled miserably. "It's just—_everything's _going wrong lately! First, father's been gone for a while, and mum...she won't say where he went. But I'm not stupid! I...I know he's _not_ _coming back!_ Who would? It's all me. People hate me. Richard and his friends want me dead. Lily's dead. Mycroft says I'm too soft. And...and...(he prepared himself for the worst injustice of all) Emmie did something very stupid." He finished, wiping his gloved palms against his cheeks.

"What did Emmie do? Sherlock, we should go to your house. It's too cold. You'll catch fever."

Sherlock blushed. People were always worrying about his health. Too frail, too weak with his emotions! A pathetic, sad little boy really, who spent far too much time in his chemistry set. Occasionally antisocial, and a real know it all, always first to answer in boarding school. Last to leave because he listened in on your conversations like eavesdropping made him part of the group. Overall diagnosis: A cyst begging for removal.

"I want you to take my coat," said John, shrugging out of his own, and draping it around Sherlock's shoulders. "You're going to want it. Evening's get right cold!" They walked across the meadow, away from the graves.

"Now...what did Emmie do?"

"...Kissed me."

"Wh-what?" John sucked in a breath, then exhaled deeply.

"You heard me! I didn't ask for it, swear! It just happened."

"Yesh, right!" John elbowed his side. "You asked for it, lad! You just didn't know it."

He pondered this for a moment. Shrugged.

"Do you think my body language asked for it John? I mean, blast if I said anything to her! She just...girls are so strange."

"Tell me about it!" John blushed. "Not one of them has yet tried...what she did to you."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"Hell no! Frankly, Sherlock, I wouldn't want to kiss Emmie anyway. She's...well, you know her reputation."

Sherlock smirked. "And I don't care. You spend time with me, and I'm worse."

"Are not!" John elbowed him roughly in the side then went very rigid. "Hell on fire..." he whispered. "It's your boys up ahead."

Everything seemed to slow down. Sherlock was aware of John's hand steadying his arm, and of his final breath releasing in a small, white cloud. Even those things muted themselves into the backround, until he was only aware of a group of shadows at the edge of the forest. There were three of them. The same three that had Sherlock had lost by running through the forest earlier that day.

"Run away." Whispered Sherlock. "On my count of three. One...two..."

"No!" Shot back John. "We're not going anywhere. Steady yourself."

Sherlock squirmed. "I'm not comfortable with this sceniario. We have better odds of survival running."

"You're never going to get anywhere running away."

"Actually, I've calculated that we can make it about twenty meters in approximately-"

"Shush. Not another word from you!"

Sherlock Holmes squared his shoulders uncomfortably.

The dark shapes emerged from the forest, their hands fisted at their sides. Sherlock sqiunited against the dying sun. Anthony and his best mate, Percy Whitley. Blast, how he hated them! He wished lightning would come down from the sky and blast off their boots. He was already imaging them charred and smoking.

Sherlock was trying to speak again when John elbowed him roughly in the side. "Oww…" He added under his breath. "Oh hell."

"Hello boys!" Shouted John, "Do you have yourselves a problem with my mate Sherlock?"

Anthony Rogers was the lead boy. He had magnificiently blonde hair and he was at least 5 years Sherlock's senior. Later, this entire deal would seem ridiculous, hilarious even. His mate, Percy, had a squished up face that reminded Sherlock of the toad. They got a rise out of picking on the needy and the young, obviously. Sherlock reminded himself that John was a force to be reconed with.

_What do we do? _Sherlock wondered fiercly. He was beginning to sweat. He was hot and cold.

"I believe we have a bone to pick, don't we, Percy?" asked Anthony crudely, balling his gloved fist into his right hand. _He's going to get us killed. Blast you, John. _

"We have a problem with the little rat in chemistry class," said Anthony, kicking sullenly at the ground as he walked forward. He made his voice high pitched and cried out "Oh professor, oooh I know the answer! It's an alkaline, isn't it? I knew it. I've read it in my book!"

Sherlock cringed. _I don't sound like that. _

It was then that John said the most horrifying thing possible. Sherlock would wonder later if John thought his words through before they tumbled away from him. "Well, I'll have you know that Sherlock Holmes, yes _this very Sherlock Holmes_ standing before you, is the envy of all girls. Why, they can't keep themselves away from!"

Both boys burst out laughing and Sherlock felt his face turning bright, bloody red. _Not a calculated move. He's dug both our graves. They're going to murder us. _

"Because they think he is one, don't you see?" said the toad faced Percy. "Look at that lovely black hair, Anthony."

"Why it's gorgeous!" cried out Anthony. "As are his clothes. When he speaketh, he is an angel!" They both laughed, their bodies rocking back and forth.

"You jealous idiots!" said John fiercly. "Just because girls do not want to kiss you, just because you are hideous—"

_John, bloody hell, watch out! _"Joh—" Too late, here comes the fist. The blood, bright red, flowing out of John's nose, dampening the snow in drops like shillings. So much blood. He feels himself growing faint.

Then Anthony's fist was coming towards his face even as John knelt in the snow. What happened next was beyond him. Sherlock's hand rose, caught the fist, and redirected it away from his body. He kicked Anthony in the shins and watched the older boy double over. _What is happening to me? _Every move and counter seemed ever so obvious. _Chop his wrist when his hand rises again, then knee the stomach. _He was shocked when Anthony keeled over again and Percy came racing on towards him.

John had regained his senses. He shot off a rock loaded into his slingshot at Percy. It hit his forehead and the boy stopped, holding a hand to his bleeding head. _Hah, we've done it! We've actually done this! I don't believe it…_

"I have a load of rocks if you dare get any closer."

"John, that was brilliant," said Sherlock hurriedly, his breath coming out in a plume. "I couldn't have done better myself, your aim is perfect."

"Well, thank you, m'boy," said John proudly, holding up his slingshot so that Percy could see it was still readily available. "I don't think you want another of these knicking your brains. Whatever is left of them."

Sherlock felt a rush of pride to have John as a friend. Percy was rubbing his face, the blood trickling down his cheeks. _Justice. _He felt the desire suddenly to try and right every wrong in the world.

"That's right, don't get a step closer!" Shouted John. "Let me just check on my mate," Percy said, holding up his hands and eying the boy who was curled over in the snow.

"He will be fine without your help," said John brightly. "Remember what happened today if you ever get any ideas again. Come on now." He motioned to Sherlock to get moving. They walked fearlessly forward past Percy, who reached out in a last ditch effort to grab John's ankle. "Not if you don't want a rock in your eye," hissed John, and the hand let go feebly. Anthony's hand was over his eyes. He was curled into a ball in the snow. Sherlock fancied he might be crying.

"I don't think they'll bother you again," said John as they reached the shelter of the trees.

"Because of you. I owe you one," said Sherlock, still in awe of his friend. How was he so lucky? Did he really deserve this? This is the beginning of something unstoppable and good, thought Sherlock, but he didn't add it. What was the point in saying something so obvious?


End file.
